Death in a Daycare

You don’t have to be afraid of me, y’know. 

She files her nightshade coffin nails with her pocket blade. Sitting at a table in front of her, a four year old plays with her doll. 

It happens to everyone. It will happen to you. It will happen to her.

She taps the child’s head with her blade’s tip. She holds out the unraveling thread from the girl’s bow and nicks it off. She stabs her knife into her back pocket, along with the string, so as not to soil the ground.

It's a common misconception, my presence. Everyone thinks I appear when the inevitable is near. Or they think me being here brings bad luck. It's dumb, really. All I do is collect what you can’t. 

She shakes her head as she watches all the children at the table. The kids chat and laugh amongst themselves. At the opposite end, a caretaker scolds a child for lying on top of the table.

I like to spend time with the future. Call it research. Bodies pile up but—it's nice to see the potential of fresh life. They’re so new, they don’t know anything. And they’re so far from me… 

She knocks her knuckles on the wooden table. The caretakers buzz around in haphazard frenzy. They pass around utensils, and grub of the general variety. The booming echoes die down as kids chew their sandwiches.

You guys try to make this job more than it seems. But I can’t revive you, make it hurt less, slow it down—speed it up. All I can do is watch. It would be pretty cool though… to be able to do something…

Across the table, a four year old boy begins to cough frantically. His face nightshades. She grips her knife, watching as the caretakers stab the child with an EpiPen. She sighs and lets go of the handle. Color returns to her trembling knuckles. At the bottom of her back pocket, She can feel the weight of the girl’s fragile thread. With the tip of her fingertips, she places the thread on the table softly.

See? Nothing to be afraid of.

In one final scan of the room, she notices the columbarium of shoes. She does not dare look up. She steps away from the table, slowly. Death is young too, with much to learn.